


Like Common People

by kopperblaze



Series: The Royal AU [1]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M, False Identity, M/M, Prince!Newt, Royalty, Set in London, different social classes, newt just wants to be like common people, percival is an irish worker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 12:58:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11162325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kopperblaze/pseuds/kopperblaze
Summary: “Are you here on your own?” The man’s accent was lilting, and brogue, and altogether intriguing.“I lost sight of my friends,” Newt lied, briefly darting his gaze up to meet the man’s eyes, and giving him a twitching smile.“Ah, don’t worry ‘bout it. You can stay with us, if you want?” The man offered, and Newt suddenly felt hot all over. He nodded before he knew what he was doing, and the man’s smile widened.“Name’s Percival Graves, pleased to meet you.” He let go off Newt’s arm, holding out his hand to shake instead. Newt stared at it for a few seconds as his mind ran a mile a minute. Would his real name give him away? So far the man hadn’t recognised him, or if he had, he hadn’t given any indication of it.“Eddie,” he blurted, deciding that it wasn’t a risk worth taking. “My name’s Eddie.”Or: the one where Prince Newt sneaks away from the palace to celebrate the end of the war amidst the crowd, where he meets one Percival Graves.





	Like Common People

**Author's Note:**

> This has been sitting in my writing folder for quite some time, and I figured it was finally time to post it. I hope you guys enjoy this little story and as always, all comments and feedback are very very welcome and appreciated ♥ 
> 
> Not beta-ed, and not historically correct at all! While Percival is Irish in this story, I didn't write him speaking in an accent because English is not my native language and I didn't want to make an arse of myself attempting to do this. Just...imagine it and listen to some Colin Farrell interviews ;) <3

The party had been mind-numbingly boring. Not that Newt had expected anything else, but in support of his brother he’d smiled and made the rounds anyway, shaking hands and having the same conversation over and over.

_How wonderful the war is finally over!_

_Yes, quite wonderful, isn’t it? We’re all so glad._

Thankfully Theseus gave him permission to leave early, and Newt had never hightailed it out of the ballroom quicker. Usually he’d be eager to return to his books and his cat, Pickett, but tonight his plans were different. He’d seen the crowd in front of Buckingham Palace, had heard of celebrations all over the city, of people dancing in the streets. Newt wanted to _see_ , and he wanted to be part of it, for once in the middle of the crowd rather than looking on from afar with detachment born out of distance.

He’d washed the pomade out of his hair and left it unstyled, the red curls partly falling over his eyes, and he’d exchanged his expensive suit for a a white shirt, black slacks and his blue wool coat. He’d never worn it in public before, and in combination with the undone hair, and the sheer improbability of his presence among the crowd, it should be a good enough a disguise.

“Hidden in plain sight, it’s really quite genius, Pickett.”

The cat yawned and rolled over, uncaring of Newt’s excitement and more concerned with having his belly scratched. 

“Oh alright, then.” Newt backtracked and patted Picket’s belly, eliciting a deep, rumbling purr from the cat. “I have to leave now, Pickett, or I’ll lose my nerve,” Newt said and tickled Pickett beneath his chin before stepping back. He took another deep breath and walked over to the bookshelf, feeling around the edge for the ledge that opened the secret passageway down into the gardens. Newt had walked through the narrow, dark tunnel many times before, but except for the first time, when he hadn’t yet known that the passageway led to the rose garden, his heart had never quivered with so much excitement. The blood rushed in his ears as he hurried down the stairs and out of the palace. He made it through the gardens unseen, and after a moment’s consideration he climbed over the fence, rather than risk being stopped by the guards at the gate. They didn’t have the authority to stop him, but word of his departure might make it’s way back to the castle.

For a moment Newt stood there, frozen to the spot as if waiting for an invisible force to pull him back, like a rubber band stretched too tight. When nothing happened, and nobody called after him, a slow smile spread on his face as his stomach turned with excitement. The fence now separated him from the palace, not him from the rest of the world, and Newt was free to go wherever he wanted, without having to consult anyone, or someone watching his every step. Part of him supposed that it should feel scary, standing here all by himself without any of his guards for the first time in his life, but all Newt felt was excitement. He bit down on a _whoop_ and turned around, running down the street and towards the Mall. His coat billowed out behind him and Newt’s body thrummed as his feet hit the pavement.

It felt like he was flying.

***

There were a _lot_ of people gathered in the square before the palace. Newt had seen the crowds from the balcony many times - his father’s funeral, Theseus’ coronation, and other events during his childhood that had blurred together in his mind. The masses had seemed unbelievable in number then, but they’d been far away, small like ants. Now there was not an inch of space between Newt and the crowd, bodies pressing in from all directions. People were laughing and screaming and singing, and Newt felt like he could barely hear his own thoughts above the noise. He couldn’t see where the crowd began or ended, and for a few terrifying moments he felt lost in a sea of human bodies, their push and pull carrying him back and forth like waves.

Something spilled down the back of Newt’s neck and he froze at the unpleasant sensation of his shirt suddenly sticking to his back. The wet wool of his coat scratched against his neck, a few drops of the liquid trickled down Newt’s spine until they were absorbed by the fabric of his pants, making Newt shudder.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, mate!”

A hand landed on his arm and Newt turned, his breath catching in his throat. A man was smiling at him, a hint of mischief in the curl of his lips. His brown eyes were framed by heavy brows, and his hair was combed to the side and back, making him look rather dashing in Newt’s opinion. They were of almost the same height, though the man was much broader than Newt, the muscles of his arms visibly where he’d rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. The top buttons were undone and Newt swallowed at the glimpse of undershirt and chest hair it offered.

Newt became aware that he was staring and quickly dropped his gaze, fumbling with his words as he tried to put together a coherent sentence. “That’s…alright. No harm done.” The man’s hand on his arm kept him anchored when people pushed past.

“Are you here on your own?” The man’s accent was lilting, and brogue, and altogether intriguing.

“I lost sight of my friends,” Newt lied, briefly darting his gaze up to meet the man’s eyes, and giving him a twitching smile.

“Ah, don’t worry ‘bout it. You can stay with us, if you want?” The man offered, and Newt suddenly felt hot all over. He nodded before he knew what he was doing, and the man’s smile widened.

“Name’s Percival Graves, pleased to meet you.” He let go off Newt’s arm, holding out his hand to shake instead. Newt stared at it for a few seconds as his mind ran a mile a minute. Would his real name give him away? So far the man hadn’t recognised him, or if he had, he hadn’t given any indication of it.

“Eddie,” he blurted, deciding that it wasn’t a risk worth taking. “My name’s Eddie.” Newt cleared his throat and shook Percival’s hand. Instead of letting go after the handshake, the man linked their fingers together and pulled Newt through the crowd. His palm was warm where it pressed against Newt’s, the tips of his fingers rough and calloused.

“We’re going to the pub just off Trafalgar, that alrighty by you?”

“S-sure.” Newt knew about pubs, of course, but he’d never been able to experience what was considered an essential part of British national identity himself.It was rather ironic, considering that his family was supposed to represent Britain.

Percival wound through the crowd effortlessly, serving as a shield for Newt, who could walk comfortably behind him. Percival’s shoulders were broad and Newt could see his shoulder blades shift beneath his shirt. One of his suspenders had slipped and sat crooked. Newt’s fingers itched to pull it right.

Despite the press of people from all sides Newt felt safe, safer than he did with any of his bodyguards, who kept him well removed from the crowd, isolated like he was a lonely little island. Now he was part of the ocean and with Percival holding his hand tightly, keeping him close, Newt wasn’t afraid of drowning anymore.

They pushed out from the thickest part of the crowd and, stumbling from the sudden lack of resistance around them, Newt fell against Percival’s back.

“Careful there,” Percival grinned and waited for Newt to regain his balance, before he pulled his hand back and patted Newt’s back. Newt’s own hand hung uselessly at his side without Percival’s to hold it.

“Eddie, this is Jacob. Jacob, Eddie,” Percival said and pointed to a portly man standing with them on the sidewalk. He had a kind face and an infectious smile, reaching out and shaking Newt’s hand enthusiastically.

“Pleasure to meet you!”

“All mine,” Newt replied. He felt breathless after their push through the crowd and dizzy because his plan had worked so flawlessly. He was really _here,_ among _ordinary_ people, who talked to him like he was someone ordinary as well. It was, in Newt’s opinion, rather marvellous.

“Do I know you from somewhere? You seem familiar,” Jacob said, and Newt ducked his head, letting his fringe fall over his eyes.

“R-really? Maybe you’ve seen me around,” he shrugged, becoming suddenly aware of the glaringly obvious flaw in his plan - he hadn’t thought about a backstory at all. Who was Eddie? Where did he work? Where did he live?

A voice that sounded remarkably like his father scolded Newt in his mind, reminding him to “always be prepared, Newton, always have a plan.” Despite his father’s coaching Newt had, so far, never had a plan in his life. There’d always been secretaries and press people to sort out his messes out for him, but this time he’d come up with his own deflection tactics.

“Probably. You work around here?” Jacob asked as they set off, passing by the pubs on the main street, where people were spilling out the doors and crowding together on the sidewalk.

“I…yes. I mean no. I…work in an office. But…not around here.” Newt barely refrained from rolling his eyes at himself. He’d never believed Theseus when he’d told him that he was a terribly liar. Now he could see what his brother meant.

“Alright then,” Jacob said easily. “Not a night to be talking about work anyway, is it?” he smiled and clapped Newt’s shoulder, like they were friends.

“Lads, after you,” The second Percival opened the door of a pub tucked away in a side street, light and laughter and music drifted outside, altogether inviting, and Newt stepped over the threshold with a flutter of excitement in his chest. The inside of the pub was crowded, people singing and dancing, some of them doing so on the tables. The tap handles behind the bar gleamed coppery-gold, and smoke hung in the air like thick mist, giving everything a slightly dream-like quality.

Nobody looked twice at Newt as he followed Jacob through the crowd, aware of Percival at his back, bumping into him every now and then.

“There we are!” Jacob declared when they’d reached a table at the back.

“Honey!” A blonde woman jumped to her feet and pressed a smacking kiss to Jacob’s lips. She was beautiful, her blonde curls shimmering like gold in the light, her smile dazzling and infectuous. She was the kind of person that you felt familiar with the moment you met her, and when her eyes turned to Newt he only felt mildly nervous under her scrutiny.

“Look what the cat dragged in! And who’re you, honey?” She asked, her eyes sparkling with humour.

“I…I’m Eddie. Very pleased to meet you, ma’am,” Newt said and took her hand when she held it out, brushing a kiss against the back. The woman giggled, her fingers curling against Newt’s.

“It’s a pleasure, Eddie. I’m Queenie. This is my sister Tina, and the young gentleman over there is Credence.”

Queenie’s sister Tina was her opposite, her brown hair styled in a short, straight bob and her eyes much more guarded than her sisters. She looked like the kind of woman who wasn’t afraid to speak her mind, but who had difficulty changing her opinions once she’d formed them, a determined jut to her jaw even as she smiled. Credence was a young man, pale and withdrawn, hunched over on the bench next to Tina and almost looking out of place. He dragged his gaze away from the tabletop for a second to look at Newt, and his smile was hesitant and small, but it transformed his face and made his eyes shine.

“Good evening,” Newt said and awkwardly waved at them, not used to such informal greetings.

“Right, I’ll be getting the next round,” Percival declared while Jacob took a seat next to Queenie. Newt was about to slide in next to Credence when another realisation hit him like a sack of bricks dropping in his stomach. He turned to Percival and fiddled with the sleeves of his coat.

“Oh, uhm, Percival?”

“Mh?” Percival asked, pulling his suspenders straight.

“You see, it’s rather embarrassing really, but I don’t have any money,” Newt confessed in a whisper. It was another thing that hadn’t occurred to him in his mad dash from the palace. Ordinary people needed _money_.

“Ah,” Percival chuckled. “Don’t worry ‘bout it, darling. I’m feeling generous tonight. Besides, you look like you’ll be a cheap drunk anyway.”

“I…what?” Newt stammered, but Percival had already turned around and fought his way up to the counter.

“C’mon and help me? Can’t carry all of them on my own, and you better work for your money.” Percival looked back over his shoulder and winked, and Newt followed him without a second thought. Random people cheered and clapped his shoulders as he passed, a shared sense of relief and celebration of the war’s end making everyone a friend.

“There we go.” Percival had managed to flag the bartender down in record time and Newt hadn’t even caught his bearings yet when he found three pint glasses standing in front of them, filled to the very brim with a bit of foam dribbling down their sides. He shot a panicked look to the side and tried to imitate the way Percival was carrying them. The other man had to have some ridiculously strong fingers, because Newt stumbled his way to the table in constant fear of the glasses slipping from his grip, nearly spilling the beer in his haste to get the glasses safely onto the table.

There were no napkins in sight, so Newt shook his hands and wiped them in his slacks before he slid into the booth to sit next to Credence, Percival squeezing in next to him. He seemed to have no qualms about personal space, and Newt could feel the heat radiating from his skin where their arms pressed together.

“Well, cheers then!”

Newt raised his glass like the others did and acted like this was nothing special to him, like he’d done this a hundred times before like other young men his age. In truth he’d never had more than the occasional glass of wine with dinner, since beer was, apparently, considered too vulgar for the palate of the royal family. When the bitter flavour of the dark liquid burst on his tongue, Newt had to reconsider that maybe the absence of beer in the palace was justified. He hoped nobody saw the face he couldn’t help but pull as he swallowed. How the heck was he going to manage an entire pint of that stuff?

“So, Eddie.” Queenie twirled a curl around her index finger and smiled. “How do youse two know each other?”

“Oh, uh, we just met,” Newt said. “I lost sight of my friends and Percival was nice enough to invite me along. After he spilt beer on me.”

“Bet he did it on purpose,” Queenie giggled and Percival’s arm trembled lightly against Newt’s when the man chuckled.

“Don’t give Eddie any ideas, Queenie.”

“See, he didn’t deny it.”

Newt felt like his face was glowing red and the room suddenly felt even hotter, prompting him to take a sip of beer, no matter how bitter the taste. At least it was marginally cooling, and it gave his hands something to do. Surely Queenie wasn’t implying what he thought she was? And all of the others were looking in on amusement, like this was … _normal_. Did they see right through him? Could they tell that he…preferred men? Newt had never told a soul about it, his dark secret kept well locked away. Though Theseus probably suspected something, judging by the rather frequent “You can tell me anything, you are my brother I’ll love you no matter what” talks he gave.

“Leave the poor lad alone,” Jacob said and wiped the back of his hand over his moustache to rid it off beer foam. “Gotta excuse her, Eddie. Queenie’s a bit nosy.” His smile was the same as before and try as he might, Newt couldn’t find any judgement in Jacob’s eyes, making him relax a fraction.

“I’m not nosy.” Queenie’s bottom lip pushed out in a pout that lasted for all of five seconds before she giggled. “Fine, I am. It’s just, he looks so cute when he’s blushing.”

Newt was sure that his face couldn’t possibly feel any hotter, and he was sorely tempted to press the pint glass to his forehead in search for relief.

“I’m sorry, honey, I’m not trying to be mean, I promise.” Queenie reached over to squeeze Newt’s hand.

“It’s…it’s quite alright. No harm done.” Newt took another sip of beer. The taste was starting to grow on him, and maybe the alcohol would help him to relax and not blush quite so much. It was getting embarrassing.

“If we’re done making Eddie blush, Credence and I were just talking about getting tickets to the Globe. His sister has gotten a job at the ticket office, so she can get us groundling tickets,” Tina said and leaned forward in excitement.

“Oh that sounds wonderful!” Queenie beamed. Next to her Jacob nodded while Newt could see Percival pulling a face from the corner of his eyes.

“Ah, I don’t know. You guys go.” Percival leaned back. “I’m not a theatre kinda guy.”

“C’mon, don’t be such a grouch. I bet you’ve never been and you might end up liking it.” Tina wasn’t going to let Percival off the hook so easily.

“Nah.” Percival shook his head. “The theatre is for posh people,” he chuckled and took another swig of beer, his glass already half-empty.

Newt’s throat tightened at Percival’s words. They all wouldn’t sit here and accept him so casually in their midst if they knew of his status. Since Newt had been a child, people had judged and excluded him without even knowing him, sorely because of his family name. He should be used to it by now, and yet the reminder felt like a punch in the gut.

Queenie rolled her eyes at Percival. “Blah blah, you’ve got no idea what you’re talking about. Would you like to come along, Eddie? You do enjoy the theatre, right?”

“Oh, uh, yes, yes I do. Enjoy it, I mean,” Newt said, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. “But I’m afraid I can’t. Thank you for your generous offer though.” If only they knew that he frequently sat in the best seats of the house, eyes drinking in the performance on stage. When he was younger, Newt had often dreamed of becoming an actor. The colourful world on stage appeared so carefree and the ability to slip on the coat of a different character and create an illusionso wonderfully enticing.

“You’re so polite.” Queenie’s smile changed from warm to teasing within a second. “Percival, you could do with some of that.”

“Please. I’m Irish,” Percival grinned and Queenie waved her hand to dismiss any ensuing argument.

Newt sagged with relief when the group’s attention shifted from him, and they discussed which play they wanted to see most. He nearly kicked his leg in surprise when a hand settled on his knee under the table. He turned his head to the side and found Percival smiling at him, his hand squeezing Newt’s knee lightly.

“You alright there, Eddie?”

Newt hysterically thought that _no, he wasn’t alright at all_. His face had taken on a permanently red hue if the heat in his cheeks was any indication, and his mouth felt cotton-dry, his tongue a foreign object in his mouth that clumsily attempted to wrap around the words he wanted to speak.

“Fine.” His voice came out more of a squeak and Newt hastily took another sip of beer, catching sight of the corners of Percival’s lips twitching, like he wanted to laugh but didn’t want to make Newt feel bad at the same. Newt cleared his throat and licked some beer foam from his upper lip. Percival’s eyes followed the movement and Newt felt like the fingertips were pressing harder against his knee. Maybe he was imagining it though.

“I’m fine,” he repeated, glad that his voice came out closer to its normal register this time.

“Good.” Percival pulled his hand back and Newt’s knee felt cold in comparison to the rest of his body, like a body part slipping out from under the blanket at night.

“So we’ve established that you work in an office and you enjoy the theatre more than I do. What else is there to know about you, Eddie?” Percival’s pint was empty and his accent broader, causing something to twist low in Newt’s gut. He couldn’t help but wonder what his real name would sound like falling from Percival’s lips, feeling a pang of regret knowing that he’d never hear it.

“I…like to read.” Newt dipped his fingertip into a small puddle of beer on the table, drawing half-circles as he wrecked his brains for something to say that’d make him sound even marginally interesting, not like he was a spoilt rich kid doing nothing of meaning all day. “And I like to go riding. I suppose I like spending time outside in general, with my animals. Which I like. I like animals.” Hadn’t that gone well? Newt wanted to bash his head against the table. He took a desperate swig of beer, hoping the bitter liquid would wash down his embarrassment. When he dared to glance up Percival wasn’t looking at him like he thought Newt was an idiot though. His smile had gentled, barely a curl of his lips, and he blinked slowly, his eyes filled with something Newt was hesitant to call fondness.

“What kinda animals do you have?”

Newt worried his bottom lip between his teeth, trying to find a clue on Percival’s face that’d let him know whether the man was making fun of him. There was nothing, Percival’s expression open and honest. Besides, he wasn’t the kind of man to beat around the bush, and Newt consoled himself with the knowledge that surely Percival would tell him straight-out if he was boring him. 

“A…a cat, called Pickett and a dog called Niffler. Well, there are several dogs at the pa-…at my house, my mother used to breed them, and I like all of them, but Niffler is mine, you know?”

Percival nodded as if he knew exactly what Newt was speaking off, easing the tightness of Newt’s throat a little.

“I have a horse, he’s called Dougal, and there is a rabbit enclosure in the garden. Not to mention the birds that like to nest in the trees around. They’re rather fascinating to study.” Newt decided that mentioning the deer enclosure would be pushing it because no normal house in London had a _deer enclosure_.

“You really do like animals.” Percival’s chuckle wasn’t mocking and Newt’s shoulders dropped from the high perch he’d subconsciously pulled them into. Across from them Jacob and Queenie stood up and Percival glanced up, nodding when Jacob told them he was getting the next round.

“Better finish that off.” Percival tilted his head towards Newt’s still half-full pint. “Shoulda said you didn’t like beer from the beginning, now you’re stuck with it and they won’t be taking no for an answer.”

Newt groaned and let his head fall back before he resigned himself to his fate and picked the glass up again. He coughed a little and wiped the back of his hand over his mouth, thinking that maybe he shouldn’t have gulped the remains of the pint down like this. It wasn’t all that bad and once he’d finished and Newt felt like the liquid was running warm through his veins, uncoiling his muscles.

“Impressive,” Percival laughed and slapped Newt’s back. “So when you’re not chugging beer you like to spend time outside. With your animals.”

Newt nodded. It felt a little like he was on a boat, everything slightly wobbly and hazy around the edges. Had the smoke in the room thickened?

“Yes. When…when I was a child I wanted to become a veterinarian. And I wanted to write a book. About animals.” The confession spilt over his lips easily, and Newt realised that despite the many years he’d kept this buried away, never speaking of it again after the time his father had explained to him that princes didn’t become veterinarians, his disappointment was still as bitter and crippling as it had been when he was seven years old.

“And why don’t you?” Percival pulled a pack of cigarettes from the breast pocket of his shirt, keeping one precariously perched between his lips as he searched for the lighter, patting his pockets.

“Here.” Credence slid his own over before returning to his conversation with Tina, barely sparing them a fleeting glance.

“Ta.” The lighter clicked and Percival lit the cigarette, his lips closing tightly around it as he took a drag. Newt blinked rapidly and dragged his gaze away, focusing on Percival’s right shoulder instead as he attempted to gather his words.

“My parents don’t really agree with it and, well.” He shrugged. “I suppose things didn’t work out.”

“Mh.” Percival hummed and offered Newt the pack of cigarettes. For a second Newt was tempted, but smoking had never appealed to him, so he shook his head.

“If you really want it you should still go for it. It’s important, going for what you want. Don’t let the expectations of others dictate your life.”

The statement hit so close to home that Newt had to clamp down on a hysteric laugh. His life was _only_ dictated by others and their expectations; and where it wasn’t dictated by others it was dictated by protocols and etiquette and dusty traditions. Compared to Theseus he had little to complain about, he hadn’t been groomed and raised to be king from the moment he was born, but Newt’s life had never been his own either.

“I suppose.” Newt pulled his shoulders up in a half-hearted shrug and took another sip of beer. The topic had put a damper on his mood, all the things he was trying to forget coming back with a vengeance.

“Oi.” Percival’s fingers tipped Newt’s chin back up until Newt had no other choice but to look the man in the eyes. “I apologise, I didn’t mean to make you sad.” His thumb dragged over Newt’s bottom lip. “I didn’t mean to take your smile away, especially after I’ve been working on keeping it in place all night.”

The way his skin radiated heat made Newt feel like he’d been in the sun for too long. He swallowed, all too aware of the bobbing of his throat, and tried to come up with a reply. His mind was entirely focused on Percival’s fingers on his skin and when Newt raised his gaze from where it had settled on Percival’s chin, he found the man’s eyes watching him. The intensity of the gaze made something in Newt’s stomach shift though he couldn’t tell if it was excitement, or nerves, or anxiety, or all of them jumbled together into something quite indescribable.

“I have an idea.” Percival stubbed his cigarette out and took Newt’s hand, pulling him from the booth. The band had started to play a lively jig, and before Newt comprehended what was happening he found himself on the makeshift dance floor, surrounded by enthusiastic people moving in time with the music.

“I can’t dance!” Newt said over the music. What he really meant was that he couldn’t dance to this. He knew his formal dances well enough, having had lessons until he was good enough to survive formal events and take a lady, or two, for a waltz.

“Me neither!” Percival grinned and grabbed Newt’s hands. The two of them were clumsy, stumbling into each other more than dancing, but Percival’s grin was infectious and Newt found himself laughing freely, uncaring of the fact that he was making somewhat of a fool out of himself. None of the people around them cared anyway, most of them not faring much better than Percival and Newt when it came to skill, but making up for it entirely in enthusiasm.

The heady mixture of alcohol, dancing, and the heat in Percival’s eyes quickly went to Newt’s head, to the point where he wasn’t sure anymore if it was him spinning or the room, or maybe both of them. Percival’s calloused hands found his again, pulling him close and providing an anchor in the wild swirl of colours and people and noise.

Time became a foreign concept amidst the chaos, and Newt couldn’t tell if they had danced to one song or ten. His shirt clung to his back and his throat felt parched, and Newt felt unsteady on his feet.

“I think I need some air!” Newt drew in a shuddering gasp and looked around, trying to find a way out of the crowd. For a second he felt panicked, all these bodies pressing in close and the exit not in sight. But then Percival pulled him along, like he had done at the beginning of the night, his broad back a shield for Newt, who followed without question. Once they pulled away from the crowd breathing became a little easier.

Newt shivered when the cold air outside hit him like a bucket of ice, the first few breaths stinging unpleasantly in his lungs.

“Better?” The rumble of Percival’s voice so close to his ear reverberated in Newt’s ribs and he shivered for reasons other than the cold. He nodded, his tongue feeling too dry to form words. His breath sounded loud in the quiet, and Newt wondered if Percival could hear the forceful thumping of his heart in his chest. In an attempt to calm his jumping pulse Newt leaned back against the brick wall and tilted his head back, looking up at the starry sky. The moon was full and bright, almost blinding, and Newt squinted as bright spots danced in front of his vision.

Percival’s shoulder brushed against his own as the man mimicked his pose, the backs of their hands brushing together. Newt would’ve thought the touch accidental, if it hadn’t lingered, their pinky fingers hooking around each other.

“At least you’re smiling again.”

Of their own accord Newt’s lips curled into a smile at the words and he ducked his head. If the night continued like this the muscles of Newt’s face were going to be sore tomorrow; he couldn’t remember ever smiling so much in such a short amount of time. Around Percival his smiles came easy though, something about the man making it impossible to be unhappy.

Percival’s thumb curled a little tighter around Newt’s. There was the click of a lighter and the scent of smoke filled the air, pleasant and warm and a little sharp.

“Want a drag?” Percival held the cigarette out to Newt, who blinked. The thought of smoking had never appealed to him, and yet he found himself leaning forward and wrapping his lips around the cigarette, brushing against Percival’s fingertips. He inhaled and the taste of smoke filled his mouth and burnt sharply down his throat, making his lungs constrict. Newt lurched forward and coughed, tears stinging behind his eyelids. He could hear Percival chuckle and then a comforting hand was rubbing circles on Newt’s back.

“Not a smoker, huh?”

“N-no.” Newt’s breathing still came in gasps. He blinked the wetness from his eyes, and when he dared to glance over he found Percival looking amused but not mean, and his embarrassment dimmed.

“It’s a bad habit anyway.” Percival threw the rest of his cigarette away. He was standing so close that Newt could smell the beer and smoke on his breath, and his chest constricted anew, a shiver running up his spine.

“We should get you back inside.” Percival rubbed the warm palms of his hands over Newt’s arms and Newt wanted to interject that he was comfortable right here with the Irishman warming him up. But his lips refused to move as his entire attention was consumed by Percival’s hand on his back. It was warm, burning almost, even through the fabric of Newt’s shirt, and the tips of his fingers pressed a little harder against Newt’s spine as Percival led him back inside.

The air inside the pub was stuffy after the fresh breeze outside, and yet Newt felt cold when Percival’s hand fell away. A narrow hallway led from the backdoor of the pub back to the main room, a few doors to the right leading, presumably, to the restrooms and the kitchen. With each step Newt took back towards the noise and commotion, the resistance within him grew. He didn’t want to go back in yet.

“You know, I’ve been wondering,” Newt stopped dead on his tracks and spun around on his heels so he was facing Percival, who stumbled at the abrupt halt.

“Go on,” he grinned when Newt didn’t continue. Well. He hadn’t quite thought this through, had he? “I…was wondering,” he began again, feeling his cheeks growing hot. Before he even had the chance to come up with a no doubt embarrassing excuse of a question, Newt was pushed back against the wall, his breath leaving his chest in a surprised exhale. Nobody had ever dared to push him, all touches except those of his brother hesitant and professional, lingering a second to short rather than a second too long. A strong chest pressed against his own and Newt’s heart picked up its beat. He had never felt this _giddy_ before, and he was almost glad to be anchored between the wall and Percival, lest he’d have floated up to the ceiling.

“I was wondering if it’d be terribly forward of me to kiss you?”

Percival’s deep voice reverberated in Newt’s chest, and the accent sent shivers down his spine. Percival was very close all of a sudden, closer than he’d been outside even. So close Newt could smell him, count his lashes if he wished to do so. Percival’s eyes watched him, waiting for a sign, and this close Newt wanted to get lost in them and count the different shades of brown flecking the iris. Percival smelt like beer, a hint of lemon soap remaining on his skin, mixed with his natural, muskier scent. A pinprick of nervousness broke his bubble of happiness and Newt’s tongue darted out to wet his dry lips. If there’d ever been a moment for bravery in his life, then surely this was it?

“Very forward,” Newt’s lips curled into a smile as the Percival’s face fell and his hands came up to tentatively curl in the man’s shirt, keeping him close as he made to pull away. “But not unwelcome.”

He waited with his breath held as Percival looked at him, the corners of his eyes slowly curving in amusement. Before Newt had any time to rethink his decision or overthink what was about to come, gentle lips pressed to his and Newt’s eyelids fluttered closed. A hand found the back of his neck and pulled him closer. Newt made a soft noise in the back of his throat as a tongue traced the seam of his lips.

He’d kissed people before, experimental pecks here and there behind closed doors or hidden behind curtains at parties, but it had never been like this. He’d never felt this _attracted_ to anyone before, nor had anybody ever kissed him like this before. Percival’s calloused fingers pressed against Newt’s neck and pulled him closer, their kiss deepening and the part of Newt’s mind that wasn’t busy singing with joy thought that he’d happily stay like this forever.

As if the universe had heard his thoughts and decided that Newt wasn’t worthy, the previously muffled sounds of the pub suddenly grew louder as a door opened. “Oi! Graves, what’s taking you so long?”

Percival pulled back with a groan and rolled his eyes. “Just a second!” He called, his eyes never leaving Newt’s. After seemingly a second’s contemplation, Percival leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to Newt’s lips, his fingers trailing over Newt’s cheek.. “Another dance, then? I’ll have to find less nosy friends, but I’m afraid for tonight I’m stuck with the ones I’ve got.”

“Keep your friends, they’re good people.” Even if he felt disappointed that their kiss had ended for too soon, Newt still couldn’t stop himself from smiling widely. Especially not when Percival took his hand and squeezed it, not letting go the entire way back into the main room of the pub.

***

It was different to dance now, like there was an undercurrent building, tension rising in time with the music much like a storm about to break, where one waited for the first clap of thunder. Newt found that he enjoyed the anticipation, the air feeling heavy around him with the promise of something he could not quite name yet.

It was as if an invisible threat made them gravitate towards each other, each brushing of hands and touching of shoulders sending a little thrill up Newt’s spine. With the rowdy crowd around them, nobody noticed that they touched more than was strictly necessary, stumbling into each other not by accident but intent. Every now and again Queenie’s face would stand out in the crowd, her laughter becoming part of the music, and Newt thought he spotted Jacob as well, though he couldn’t say for sure. Percival was the only thing standing out bright and sharp amidst the blurry mass.

Newt could’ve happily stayed like this, moving as if in trance and suspended in a space of giddy anticipation, but eventually the band wrapped up for the night and crowded around the bar, eager for something to soothe their parched throats.

“That was fun!” Queenie said as she hooked her arm around Newt’s elbow, pulling him close. Despite the night spent in the smokey pub, she still smelt like lilacs and roses. “C’mon, let the boys get us something to drink.”

Newt allowed himself to be led away from Percival and back to their booth, still inhibited by Tina and Credence. Queenie sat back down next to her sister, and Newt was glad to find that he wasn’t the only one out of breath. He hadn’t noticed how sweaty he was before, but sitting down and leaning back made him harshly aware of the discomfort of his wet shirt clinging to his skin.

“Did you have fun?” Tina asked. Judging by the smile playing around her lips, she already knew the answer.

“Yes. You really should’ve joined, Teenie. You too, Credence.” Queenie took her sister’s pint and downed the contents in a rather unladylike manner that Newt hadn’t expected. At first glance Queenie seemed like the ladies at court, well-mannered and put together, but unlike the ladies at court Queenie seemed wholly unconcerned with keeping up a perfect facade. It made her real, which made Newt like her even more.

“You know me. I don’t dance,” Tina replied. The way she glanced at Credence before looking back at Queenie implied that there was more to it than that, but Newt’s mind was too muddled to work out what had been said between the lines.

“So, Eddie.” Tina’s smile when she directed her focus back to Newt was somewhat terrifying, and Newt squirmed in his seat, smoothing down the lines of his shirt with sweaty palms.

“I didn’t peg you to be the kind of guy who enjoys dancing so much. Then again, I suppose if one’s got the right partner-“ Tina yelped and closed her mouth, while Queenie smiled innocently next to her.

“What my sister was trying to say is that we’re glad you’re having a good time,” Queenie said, and Newt couldn’t shake the feeling that there was even more unspoken subtext here. He would’ve fretted about it, if the alcohol and excitement in his system hadn’t made him feel so content.

“Thanks for allowing me to join you,” he managed to reply, a lifetime of manners letting him come up with a courteous reply in any situation. Before the silence could stretch on for too long, or Tina could ask anymore questions, Jacob and Percival rejoined the table, each carrying three pints.

“Refreshments for the dancers. And the non-dancers, who dutifully watched our table,” Jacob declared with a wide grin. The top buttons of his shirt were undone and a few strands of hair had escaped his side part and were hanging over his forehead. He looked relaxed and happy and for a second Newt felt a pang of regret. These people were so at ease, so unconcerned about appearances and protocol and manners, that he couldn’t help but envy them.

There was no point ruining his night with such thoughts though, and Newt firmly pushed them from his mind. Percival’s shoulder leaning against his a second later made all thoughts not concerning the Irishman evaporate anyway, and the giddy happiness returned to Newt’s body, making it almost impossible to sit still. It probably wasn’t wise to down half of his beer so quickly, but Newt was thirsty from dancing and the drink didn’t taste half as bad as it had at the beginning of the night.

A sense of calm settled over Newt as he sat there, his limbs heavy and his mind at peace. Nobody even said a thing about him slouching, which was definitely a first. Newt knew he was romanticising it, but if this was how normal people felt, well, he would gladly denounce his birthright. Though really, compared to his brother, Newt had no reason to complain, and he was well aware that his self-pity was rather ungrateful.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Percival’s breath was hot against the shell of Newt’s ear, and he instinctively leaned in closer, glancing over.

“Oh…nothing much. I’m just….I’m just wondering if there’ll ever be a night like this again.”

“Mh.” Percival hummed in contemplation and took a swig of beer. It left his lips shiny and wet, and Newt was entirely too fascinated by the sight, feeling the heat creeping back into his cheeks as he remembered the press of those lips against his.

“You’re young, there’ll be nights like this again,” Percival eventually said, his teeth shining in the light as he smiled. “Though I hope you won’t witness another war, so maybe not nights quite like this.”

Newt struggled to drag his eyes away from Percival’s lips and back up to his eyes. Considering the way the corners wrinkled with amusement, Newt hadn’t been as subtle as he thought. The hand settling heavily on his knee and squeezing had Newt thinking that Percival didn’t mind. They stayed like that for a while, sipping their beers and letting the conversation at the table wash over them.

“It’s getting late. Wanna get out of here?”

A tingle of nervousness unfurled in Newt’s stomach, but it only fuelled his curiosity and made him nod. 

“Right. It’s getting late, I’ll walk Eddie home,” Percival announced to the table as he got up. “Enjoy the rest of your night, folks. I’ll be seeing you around.”

Newt pushed to his feet and stumbled from the booth after grabbing his coat, acutely aware of the silence that had fallen over the table as four pairs of eyes watched them. “It was very nice meeting you all,” he said, which at least got Queenie to beam up at him.

“You too, honey. Youse two take care of yourselves, alright? Drop by for dinner tomorrow, Percy.”

“Sure.” Percival gave her a mock salute.

“Good night.” Newt waved a little awkwardly and they left to a chorus of ‘good nights’ in return. Newt tried his best not to blush, feeling the hairs on his neck stand up in a way that told him that their departure was being watched. They’d most likely draw their conclusions from it, but Newt wasn’t likely to ever see any of them again, and besides, Percival’s friends didn’t seem the kind of people to judge.

Stepping outside felt like jumping into cold water and Newt couldn’t suppress an involuntary gasp. He’d felt perfectly fine in the warmth of the pub, but out here he realised that he was quite possibly drunker than he’d thought. The streets were emptier than they’d been earlier that night, a few people stumbling around and a girl giggling as she let herself be pulled into an alley by a soldier. Newt hadn’t ever seen the streets like this, deserted and dark. It was strange, the air tinged with something like melancholy and the ghosts of the people who’d been milling around. Apparently alcohol made Newt deeply contemplative of the world.

He’d been so lost in his observations that he hadn’t noticed Percival coming to a halt, and promptly walked into the man.

“Careful there.” Percival reached out to steady him, not removing his hand even when Newt had regained his balance. Half his face was illuminated in the lamplight, the other half in the shadows, and Newt became aware of staring when Percival quirked an eyebrow and smirked.

“So?”

“So?” Newt echoed, trying to button his coat as much in an attempt to shield himself from the cold as to busy his hands. The buttons were elusive tonight though and he gave up, his hands falling back to his side.

“So, where to? I said I’d walk you home.” Percival reached out and the buttons seemed to behave for him, slipping through the holes easily. When he was done he smoothed his hands over the lapels of Newt’s coat, his touches lingering and prompting Newt to tilt forward a little. When his mind caught up with Percival’s words he jerked back, the warmth pushed from his body by dread.

“You can’t walk me home,” he blurted, his mind already running a mile a minute in an attempt to come up with reasons why, and Newt cursed the alcohol in his system for making it so difficult to think. “You can’t walk me home because….I….can’t….go home tonight.”

Percival’s eyebrows rose higher and higher in time with Newt’s words. “Right,” he said, drawing out the vowel.

“Yes. I can’t go home tonight,” Newt repeated. He’d started to dig his grave, he might as well go through with it now. “I can’t go home because….my brother has guests.” Which wasn’t a lie. Percival didn’t need to know that these guests included the Duke of Edinburgh and the Prime Minister. Percival’s frown smoothed out though, so Newt congratulated himself on a half-lie well done.

“Ah, of course,” Percival nodded, like he knew exactly what Newt was talking about. His gaze flickered up for a second and his lips pressed together, before he pulled his shoulders back as if he’d decided on an appropriate response.

“Do you want to come back to mine then?”

Newt’s stomach jumped with the weight the words carried. He’d very much like to kiss Percival some more, but spending the night at Percival’s place seemed to imply more than just kissing, and despite his best attempts at bravery and courage and reminding himself that it was most likely the only night in his life where he was free of all restrictions and expectations, Newt didn’t think he was that brave. His expression must’ve given him away, because Percival stepped closer and cupped his cheek.

“That came out wrong, I hadn’t meant to imply anything. I meant to sleep. You can’t go home, and I won’t abandon you in the streets. I got a perfectly good bed, and I can sleep on the floor if that’ll make you more comfortable.”

Newt swallowed against the lump in his throat, tilting his head into Percival’s touch on instinct. It was a bad decision on so many levels, and he knew he’d come to regret it by morning when faced with the consequences, but right now, in this moment, Newt didn’t care. Not when Percival’s palm was warm against his cheek and his smile soft and blurred in the darkness.

“Just to sleep,” he agreed.

***

They walked in silence, and somewhere along the way they went from brushing hands to holding hands. The fresh air and the movement blew most of the alcoholic fog from Newt’s brain, and yet even clear-headed and knowing he was getting himself into more trouble than he’d anticipated, he didn’t care. He’d just have to make it back to the palace early, and sneak in before anyone discovered him missing. Except for brunch there was nothing scheduled for tomorrow and the servants knew Newt liked to sleep in, so nobody was going to check on him before 9. He had all the time in the world.

“Where do you live?” Newt asked after they’d been walking for a while. He thought they were walking in the opposite direction of the palace, but he wasn’t sure. He had no idea how he was actually going to find his way back in the morning, but it seemed a moot point to worry about now.

“East End,” Percival replied, glancing over at Newt. “Nothing as posh as your neighbourhood, presumably.”

Newt shrugged, his grip on Percival’s hand tightening slightly. “Doesn’t matter much, does it?”

“If you say so,” Percival said, squeezing Newt’s hand in return.

“You know…you haven’t told me anything about yourself all night,” Newt said after Percival had lit a cigarette and taken a drag, doing it all with one hand, his other continuing to hold Newt’s.

“Mh, there’s not that much to know about me,” Percival replied, blowing out smoke through the corner of his mouth. “Came over here a few year ago to work, you know how it goes. So that’s all I’m doing. Working and sitting at the pub, not much else. I’m afraid I’m rather dull. Especially compared to you.”

“That’s not true,” Newt protested. “Where do you work?”

“Down at the docks. Soul-sucking job and it’s long hours, but the pay’s good. Means I can send some home to me ma.”

“Where’s home?” Newt asked, shaking his head when Percival offered the cigarette to him. One embarrassing try had been enough.

“Galway.” There was a fondness in Percival’s voice that led Newt to believe that Percival missed his hometown, that he probably hadn’t left because he wanted to but because he had to.

“Why did you come to London? Do you miss Galway?” Newt couldn’t help being curious. They’d spent the evening together and after those few short hours he felt like he knew Percival on some level, knew that he was drawn to the man, but he also came to realise now that on a very basic level he knew absolutely nothing about Percival. “You…you don’t have to answer of course, if you don’t want to,” he added hastily, realising that he might’ve come across as demanding.

“Don’t worry,” Percival said and flicked the butt of his cigarette down on the sidewalk. “I never answer questions I don’t wanna answer, but you? You I’d tell my darkest secrets if you asked.” He tugged on Newt’s hand and in a move to quick for Newt’s muddled mind to follow, wrapped his free arm around Newt’s waist, pulling him close and pressing their lips together in a kiss that was over before Newt even realised it was happening. The streets around them were abandoned, but Percival let go off him again quickly and continued to walk. “I do miss it sometimes. My family mostly, I suppose. But it’s a small town and there’s not a lot of work to go around. So,” he shrugged. “I came here. It was a shock at first, coming from the countryside to such a big city. It’s better in some ways and worse in others.”

Newt nodded, still a little distracted by the hot imprint Percival’s lips had seemingly left on his own. “I…I think I know what you mean.” Though going to vacation in the countryside was probably not really the same. “Do you go back home sometimes?”

“Nah, too expensive,” Percival shook his head, the downturn of his lips visible even in the dim light. “But me sister really wants to come over and visit. Ma says she’s saving up for it, but,” he shrugged. “We’ll see.”

Newt disliked the slump of Percival’s shoulders, like a weight had been dropped back onto his shoulders. He had no idea how much a ticket for the ship to Ireland cost, but altogether it would be an easy expense for Newt to make. Even if he never saw Percival again after tonight, which was a thought he quickly pushed away as it made his stomach tighten uncomfortably, he wanted to help him see his family again.

“How many siblings do you have?” Newt looked at their surroundings. He definitely had no idea where they were anymore.

“Two. A sister and a brother, both younger. Elaine is sixteen and Gawain is eight.” Percival’s voice was a peculiar mix of fond and wistful. “My da, he died in the war a few years back. Sometimes I feel I ought to be there to help raise him, you know? Teach him all the things da taught me. But no use in being there and teaching him things when there’s no money to put food in their mouths, aye?”

Despite the relatively warm night, Newt’s skin felt numb. Guilt gnawed at him and he almost felt ashamed at his own privilege; all the things he worried about seemed rather silly, compared to the decisions Percival had had to make, and the consequences he had to bear.

“Mhm,” he nodded, lost for a response.

“Ah, well, no point ruining a perfectly good night with such talk,” Percival said, glancing over at Newt, the corners of his lips twitching back into a smile. “What about you? I know you got one brother.”

“Yes. The-Theodore,” Newt corrected himself quickly. “He’s older than me and rather overly protective.”

Percival chuckled. “It’s our duty as older brothers to be as overbearing and annoying as we possibly can.”

“Is there something like a handbook for older brothers?”

“Yes. But I can’t share the secrets of the trade with you, Eddie. Terribly sorry.”

Newt laughed, glad they had steered away from the heavy topics. Their shoulders bumped, and he couldn’t help the way his smile widened, fuelled by the giddiness still sizzling in his stomach.

“Here we are,” Percival said as they came to a halt in front of a townhouse with uneven brick walls and a red door, the paint peeling off. “My room’s up in the attic.” Percival rooted through the pockets of his trousers for a moment before he found the key and unlocked the door. It squeaked as he pushed it open, and for a moment Newt halted. It was dark inside the house, making the doorway appear like a dark mouth about to swallow him. The rational part of his brain, slowly fighting it’s way through the soft, comforting haze the alcohol had filled his mind with, helpfully whispered that what Newt ought to do was turn around and go home. He could sneak in undetected, and treasure the memory of tonight without getting himself into trouble.

The rest of his mind zoomed in on Percival, looking back at him over his shoulder with a smile, and firmly told the rational part to shut it. His legs moved of their own accord and Newt followed, like Percival was the pied piper. The inside of the house smelt slightly musty and the narrow stairs creaked under their feet, the noise amplified by the silence of the rest of the house.

The attic was small and stuffy, and Newt came to a halt in the middle of the room, not quite knowing where to go or what to do while Percival cracked the window open and lit the lamp on the bedside table, casting everything into a soft, diffusing light. It enabled Newt to take in the sparse furnishing of the room: a bed, a nightstand, a wardrobe and a rickety chair on which clothes were piled. The paint on the walls was peeling off, revealing the bricks in places, and the wooden floor was uneven and groaned in such a dangerous manner that Newt was almost afraid of it breaking away beneath his feet.

“It’s not much, but it’s comfortable enough,” Percival said, like he needed to explain himself. It made Newt feel worse because in his mind he had been comparing the room to home; to the plush carpets and expensive paintings and tapestries on the walls, the large windows filling the rooms with air and light. The ladies at court would shriek in horror at the absence of all luxuries, but as he took it in Newt decided that he rather liked Percival’s room. It was small and shabby, yes, but it was also homely and lived in, in a way that hardly any part of the palace ever was.

“I like it,” he said, finally melting from his frozen stance and taking another step into the room. Something had shifted in the air between them along with the change from the public sphere to the private.

“I’ll get you a glass of water,” Percival said suddenly and walked out of the room, leaving Newt alone. After a moment’s contemplation he sat down on the edge of the bed, his gaze roaming around once more. A picture was propped up on Percival’s nightstand, the blurry black and white figures of a woman, a girl, and a boy smiling at the camera. They stood in front of a house surrounded by trees, and Newt imagined Percival growing up there, playing in the forest with his siblings.

“Here.” Percival came back with two glasses of water, kicking the door shut behind him. “You’ll thank me in the morning.”

Newt huffed because he was hardly that drunk. After the first sip he became aware of how thirsty he was though, and gulped down half the glass. “Thank you,” he said and drew the back of his hand over his lips. Away from the mayhem of the pub and sitting in the peaceful quiet of the room, Newt’s body suddenly felt heavy, the blink of his eyelids slowing and his mouth opening in a yawn. The glass was taken from his hands, and after Percival had put it down on the nightstand he knelt down in front of Newt and unlaced his shoes. With his head bowed, Newt could see strands of hair escaping from Percival’s backcombed style, strands of silver shimmering among the dark brown.

“You don’t have to do that,” he said as Percival took his shoes off.

“I know.” Percival glanced up, flashing Newt one of the smiles that rendered him incapable of protesting. “But I want to.” He lined Newt’s shoes up neatly before moving on to rid Newt of his coat before gently pushing on his shoulder until Newt took the hint and collapsed back against the pillow, swinging his legs up onto the bed.

“Offer still stands,” Percival said as he hung Newt’s jacket on the peg by the door.

“Mh?” Newt watched through heavily-lidded eyes as Percival turned back around, his expression carefully blank.

“I can sleep on the floor, I don’t mind.”

Newt huffed and shuffled back on the bed until his back was pressed against the wall. “Don’t be silly.”

Percival’s shoulders dropped a fraction as he walked over and sat down on the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. Newt watched the muscles shift under his shirt as Percival unlaced his own boots. He had a rather broad back, and Newt curled his hands into fists to keep himself from reaching out, blushing rather forcefully as a sudden, vivid image of his hands stroking over the naked expanse of Percival’s shoulders bubbled up in his mind.

Once his shoes were off Percival lay down next to Newt, turning so they were facing each other. His gaze felt heavy and for a few moments he merely looked, as if he was trying to commit Newt’s face to memory.

“Let me take you out to lunch tomorrow.”

Newt’s thoughts stuttered to a halt, the gently fluttering in his stomach turning into something much more unpleasant. “W-what?”

Percival shifted and averted his gaze. Newt immediately missed seeing them and regretted his knee-jerk reaction.

“It’s my first day off in…ever, really. Not even the foreman is making us work a day after the war ended. So…let me take you out to lunch? I’d like to get to know you by daylight too,” Percival spoke like he expected rejection, causing Newt to reach out and tangle their fingers together.

“I…I’d love to but…but I can’t.”

The line of Percival’s lips hardened and Newt hated, absolutely hated knowing he was the reason for it. “It’s…my brother, you know. I really…I really ought to get home in the morning or…I’ll be in a lot of trouble. But…but I’d like to have lunch with you. Or dinner. Or tea. Anything. Just not tomorrow.”

Percival looked back up at him, his eyes searching. After a few seconds he pulled their intertwined hands up and pressed a kiss to the back of Newt’s hand. “Sure, darling. Wouldn’t want to get you in trouble.”

 _‘You already have,’_ Newt thought, but merely smiled in return. “I had a wonderful night, thank you.”

Percival snorted and pressed a kiss to Newt’s knuckles. “Usually they don’t say that till morning.” Newt hit Percival’s shoulder with his free hand, but it did nothing to diminish the man’s wicked grin.

“I’m joking. I’m very glad I spilt my beer in you tonight, Eddie. T’was destiny.”

“Possibly.”

They lay in silence for a while and Newt’s eyelids progressively grew heavier, more difficult to hold open.

“C’mere.” Percival let go off his hand, and before Newt could utter a sound of protest he was pulled against Percival’s chest. Newt wasn’t much of a people-person at the best of times. It took him a long time to stop feeling awkward around people, and even longer to start trusting them. He was much more at ease with animals; they were less complicated than people. And yet Percival defied all the laws of Newt’s life. He was easy to be around with, and he never acknowledged Newt’s awkwardness, going with it instead. So, despite the fact that he’d barely known Percival for a day, he found himself drifting off to sleep easily with his head resting on the man’s chest, his breathing syncing to Percival’s heartbeat.

***

His tongue felt swollen, his mouth was fuzzy, and there was an insistent pounding in Newt’s head. The light streaming in through the window hurt his eyes and he closed them again quickly, swallowing down a wince. He focused on taking deep, even breaths until the nausea roiling in his stomach calmed down. Only then did his senses extend to more than his own discomfort, and Newt’s eyes flew open as he realised that there was a warm body next to him. It took a few beats of his frantic heart before the events of the previous night came back to him and his tense muscles uncoiled.

Next to him Percival was asleep, and Newt allowed himself the luxury of watching for a little while. He felt horrible, and not because of his hangover. His hangover made his head hurt, but the thought of never seeing Percival again made Newt’s chest hurt.

It was gradually getting lighter outside, and eventually Newt couldn’t ignore the uncomfortable urgency overtaking his body anymore. He needed to get back, there was nothing to it. In a fit of bravery, possibly fuelled by the desperate gravity final moments always possessed, Newt pressed a quick kiss to Percival’s lips. The man sighed softly but didn’t wake up, and Newt awkwardly clambered over him and out of bed. His legs felt unsteady beneath him and his hands were shaking as he pulled on his shoes and tied the laces. He stood in the middle of the room and looked around once more. There was no piece of paper in sight, nothing that would allow Newt to leave a note.

He didn’t think he’d ever felt as wretched in his life as he did when he carefully opened the door of Percival’s room and slipped out, not allowing himself to look back for fear of his body turning and walking back to the bed, hiding away from the world. He felt like a thief as he sneaked down the stairs, keeping his steps light so the floorboards wouldn’t creak. His chest was impossibly tight when he opened the front door and stepped out into the harsh morning light.

There had been difficult situations in Newt’s life before, plenty of times when he’d had to put duty above his personal wishes, but it had never been this _difficult_ before. Everything in him screamed to turn back, to at least wake Percival and explain, but there was no time and Newt wasn’t sure he’d even be capable of finding the right words.

He’d have to find another way. Leaving now didn’t mean that he couldn’t ever see Percival again.

That thought firmly in mind, Newt squared his shoulders and began to walk. He needed to find the way home first, then he could think of how to solve everything else. 

***

Where the streets had been crowded and full of life the night before, they were deserted and quiet in the morning light. If it weren’t for a few people here and there going about their daily business, it would’ve felt as if London’s population had vanished over night.

Newt kept his head down as he walked, his hands in the pockets of his pants. He’d forgotten his coat at Percival’s, but he’d already been down the street when he realised, and either way, it was hardly like he could go back and get it. The entire morning was a blur in Newt’s mind; he’d fled from Percival’s house so hastily that it seemed one of the fragmented things one remembered but wasn’t certain if it had been a dream or reality.

Despite his hazy state, Newt managed to make his way back onto palace grounds undetected. He had to crawl through some shrubbery in order to do so, but desperate times did call for desperate measures.

“Good morning, sir!”

Newt froze, the leaf he’d picked from his hair still in his hand. For a wild second he imagined that all the servants had been sent out to score the grounds for him after he’d been discovered missing. Through the nervousness clouding his vision, Newt eventually managed to make out the figure of Hagrid approaching him, and he exhaled shakily. It was alright. Everything would be alright. Hagrid, one of the castle’s gardeners, was as close a thing to a friend as Newt had; the man had never minded Newt tagging along back when he was a child, asking question after question about the different plants and trees and animals living on the grounds. They’d had many a discussion about the wildlife on the estate since then, and Newt valued Hagrid’s input for all of his projects. Above all, Newt knew he could trust Hagrid, who had never once betrayed his trust.

“You out for a morning walk?”

“Yes. Yes I am,” Newt nodded, forcing his lips into a smile. “I was just down in the stables, checking up on the horses.”

“How they doin’ then? I reckon Bessy is gonna have her fowl soon.”

Newt nodded, incapable of focusing on an extensive talk. “I’m sorry, Hagrid, but I’m in a bit of a hurry. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Of course,” Hagrid nodded, the corners of his eyes creasing the only indicator that he smiled, since his lips were mostly obscured by his impressive beard. “Oh, and your Highness?”

Newt stopped and looked back over his shoulder.

“You might want to,” Hagrid gestured towards Newt’s middle, and when Newt looked down he found that his shirt was untucked and wrinkled. He hadn’t bothered to look into a mirror this morning, or waste a thought on his appearance, and quickly set to tucking the hem back neatly into his trousers.

“Thank you, Hagrid.”

The man only winked and nodded before he turned around and continued down the path, leaving Newt to inhale slowly and hope that his blush would fade quickly.

After Hagrid, Newt thankfully didn’t run into anyone else. All the years exploring the castle and its secret passageways as a child were finally paying off. Once back in the safety of his rooms, all the tension drained from Newt and he collapsed onto his bed like his strings had been cut. Pickett strolled over and stepped onto his stomach, and Newt thought the cat was probably digging his paws into Newt’s flesh with all its might as a punishment.

“Pickett, I’ve had quite the night,” he sighed as he reached up to scratch behind Pickett’s ears. The cat watched him with bright green eyes and blinked slowly as if to say ‘I know’.

***

An hour later Newt was showered and dressed, his clothes and hair impeccable and neat once more. The hot water had done wonders to wake him up and cleared his thoughts as well, and by the time he walked down the corridors to his brother’s chambers, he had a plan in mind.

The guards opened the ornate doors for Newt, and he navigated Theseus’ apartment easily, finding his brother in his study as expected, reading the paper while absently nibbling on a croissant. He looked as he always did, put together and commanding, but Newt knew what to look for and the soft shadows beneath Theseus’ eyes spoke of a late bedtime and little sleep.

“Good morning.”

The paper rustled as Theseus put it down. “Good morning. Care for a cuppa?” He was already reaching for the bell to call one of his servants in, but Newt shook his head.

“No. Actually, there’s something I want to talk to you about.”

Theseus hand dropped to the table and he watched Newt as he sat down in the chair across from him. He leaned back, his posture relaxed but attentive. It was one of the things about Theseus that made people like him so much. He always managed to make one feel like they had his full attention, like he didn’t care about anything in the world but what they had to say.

“Go on then, I’m listening.”

Newt inhaled. His fingers were twined together in his lap and he made himself look up from the polished wood of the table and meet Theseus’ eyes. “I’ve got a favour to ask you.”

His brother’s eyebrows rose. Newt hardly ever asked for favours, and when he did they were mostly animal-related.

“Please don’t tell me you want to bring in a herd of sheep to take care of the castle grounds,” Theseus groaned.

“No, nothing like that.” Though Newt couldn’t help but think that it was a rather brilliant idea. He’d have to remember it for later. “Remember how you’re always on my case about getting a valet? I…I think I found someone.”

Theseus’ eyebrows twitched.

***

Percival wasn’t sulking. Well, not exactly. It was more like…brooding. Smoking cigarettes and staring out of the window into the distance. That kind of thing. Because what else was he supposed to do? He’d woken up to find the bed next to him empty, and although Eddie’s coat still hung on the peg, the man himself was gone.

Without the coat there, Percival might’ve thought that it all had been a very strange dream, but like this it was a glaring reminder that everything had been real, and that Eddie had preferred leaving to facing Percival in the morning. Apparently the English were rather skilful at pulling an Irish exit too.

He took another drag of his cigarette before flicking the butt out of the window just as there was a knock on the door. Vain hope blossoming in his chest, Percival held his breath and listened to Abernathy’s heavy footsteps as he opened the door. He couldn’t make out what was being said, but the register of the second voice was too deep to be Eddie’s, and Percival blew out the smoke he’d been holding in his lungs.

Feck it all, he was going back to bed.

“Oi, Graves! Someone’s here for you!” Abernathy yelled and Percival stopped on his way to the bed with a groan. Why couldn’t the world leave him alone in his misery? He sighed and changed directions, leaving his room and trotting down the stairs. Abernathy shot him a look somewhere between curiosity and worry as he nodded towards the door before disappearing into the kitchen. No doubt he’d be listening from there, far too curious for his own good.

Stepping up to the door, Percival came face to face with a man in a dark suit, and he immediately regretted not pulling on a shirt over the ratty wifebeater he was wearing. Everything about the man screamed money, from the tips of his polished shoes to the carefully combed hair. His expression was almost disconcertingly neutral.

“Mister Percival Graves?”

Old habits died hard, and Percival mentally ran through everything he had done in the past few months that might send him to prison. After coming up with minor offences at best, he slowly nodded. “Who’s asking?”

Instead of replying, the man held out an envelope. It was crisp white, heavy in Percival’s hand when he accepted it and studied his name written on the front on a looping, unfamiliar script. When he turned it around he found a sigil on the back. It looked familiar, and for a moment Percival thought it was that of the royal family, but quickly dismissed that because that? Was absolutely ridiculous.

He broke the sigil and pulled out a carefully folded piece of paper, the handwriting on it the same, looping script as on the envelope.

_Dear Percival,_

_I hope you will accept my apologies for having left the way I did this morning. I truly am very sorry._

_I would still very much like to have lunch with you, and I promise I shall explain this unfortunate situation to you in person_

_Yours,_

_Newt (Eddie - I will explain that as well!)_

_PS: Could you please bring my coat?_

Percival read through the later a second, and then a third time, just to make sure he’d gotten it right. Eddie was…Newt? As in Prince Newt? Some of Eddie’s….Newt’s behaviour and the things he’d said last night made so much more sense in light of that new piece of information, like things had finally clicked into place.

Percival felt like his eyes had grown to size of saucers when he finally raised them, meeting the man’s unimpressed stare.

“May I suggest that sir change before I take him back to the palace?”

Percival blinked as he let the words sink in, swallowing with difficulty against the hysteric laughter trying to rise in his throat. Back to the palace. Back to the _palace_ where _Prince Newt_ wanted to _explain this unfortunate situation._ What the hell was one supposed to wear for such an occasion? Then again, Percival only possessed one good suit, so it wasn’t like he had a choice.

“Sure. Just…gimme five, will you?”

The man nodded and gave a little bow. An actual bow. Like Percival was something more than the dirt specking his polished shoes. “Certainly. I shall be waiting by the car.”

“By the car. Right. Sure.” Percival nodded and turned. As soon as he was out of sight he broke into a run, taking the stairs two at a time, his heart slamming against his ribcage. He’d never been so thankful for his mother forcing him to bring his nice church suit along to England.

Eddie wasn’t Eddie, but Eddie also hadn’t disappeared, and he wanted to have lunch with him. Percival could work with that.

And the rest? The rest he’d figure out along the way. He always did.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> ...tbc? maybe?


End file.
